The Inquisitives [2] Night of Long Shadows (29 page)

“Wait,” said Bren. He glanced between Tiel and Cutter. “Renaia came to me asking for help. Said she thought Rowen was in trouble.”

Cutter stared at Bren. “Bren, what did you do?”

“I followed the procedure. I told Tiel and he said he’d take care of her.”

“He took care of her, all right.” He turned to Tiel. “Did you do it, or get someone else to do it?”

“I did it. It was enjoyable, actually. Quite the little fighter, our Rowen. Even up to the end she wouldn’t tell me where it was. I must admit I was quite surprised when Xavien told me it had turned up again. Was that thanks to you?”

Bren stood. “What’s he saying? Cutter, what about Rowen?”

“She’s dead, Bren. Tiel killed her. Tortured her, actually. Trying to get her to give up where she’d hidden the shard.”

“Is that true?” Bren asked Tiel.

“Yes, it’s true. Who cares? She was just a courtesan. Not even worth the effort, really.”

“I cared,” whispered Cutter.

Tiel grinned. “Ah, shame for poor Cutter. His woman’s dead.” He stepped forward, scowling at him. “I did you a
favor.”

Cutter stepped forward. Tiel held his ground.

“Cutter,” warned Bren.

“What? You going to protect him after what he did? You
knew
Rowen. You drank with her.”

“I know, but that has nothing to do with this. I can’t let you do anything stupid.”

“It’s not stupid. It’s the most sensible thing I’ve ever done.”

He stepped forward again. He saw Bren glance over his shoulder. Cutter started to turn, but too late. Something exploded against the back of his head and his legs wouldn’t hold him up. He fell to his knees, his surroundings swirling like he’d had too much to drink. He looked down and saw blood pooling at his knees.

“Find the shard,” he heard Tiel say, then something hit him again, and he was flung forward onto the floor, his cheek cracking against the tiles.

W
ren and Torin made their way through the crowds of students that crammed the grounds of Morgrave University. The break for the midday meal was ending, and everyone was hurrying off to classes, research projects, or whatever it was that students did.

Probably off to get drunk, thought Wren uncharitably.

“How could we lose him? We
walk
faster than that lift moved.”

“Yes, Wren. It’s just a pity we can’t walk up the sides of buildings.” Torin stepped aside as a group of young gnomes sprinted down the hall, shouting for someone’s attention. “Why did you want to follow him, anyway? He said he’d meet us in the professor’s office when he gets the shard.”

“Because he doesn’t care about the shard,” said Wren. “All he cares about is finding whoever is responsible for Rowen’s death. We, however, need that shard to prove what’s been going on, and that we didn’t kill a member of the City Watch for no reason.”

“And to stop whatever they plan on doing with it,” reminded Torin.

“Yes, yes. That too.”

“Have you figured out why that name sounds familiar?”

“Diadus?” Wren shook his head. “No. We’re still missing too many pieces of this puzzle, Torin. Why was the dragonshard delivered to Anriel? If we knew that, maybe we could move forward.”

They headed through the warren of corridors that led to the professor’s office. Wren entered first. He pushed open the door and looked into the face of the young watchman who had first chased them back at Warden Towers.

“Well, hello there, Master Wren. I’ve been looking for you.”

Wren froze, wondering what to do. Torin was still behind him. He tried to move so the dwarf wouldn’t be seen, but the guardsman merely smiled at him.

“Despite appearances to the contrary, I’m not just a simple member of the Watch. Please, come in—both of you. We have a few things to talk about.”

“First off, let’s get things straight,” said the corporal as he lowered himself into the professor’s chair. Wren noted that someone had tidied up the mess Cutter had made. “I’m not a member of the Watch. I’m from the Dark Lanterns. My name is Col.”

Wren’s eyes widened. He looked at Torin, who simply shrugged.

“The professor got word to us a while ago that he had been approached by someone who wanted to get their hands on a dragonshard from the University’s museum. As one of the senior members of the faculty, he was one of only three people who
could pull that off without anyone finding out. I was supposed to be there when the exchange took place so I could follow the courier back to his superiors.”

“What happened?” asked Wren.

“I don’t know. The meeting was moved forward by a day. I wasn’t there to help out. The professor must have refused to hand over the shard and he was killed. I’ve been looking for it ever since. I know a Watch captain called Jana is involved. I was transferred into her command as part of my cover, but so far, all she’s been bothered with is targeting this Cutter. That’s why I let you get away, by the way. I could have taken you down back at the prison, but I wanted to see how things played out. Now, why don’t you tell me how you are involved?”

“Why don’t you prove who you are—and who you say you are?”

Col stared at Wren for a moment, then shrugged and withdrew a piece of expensive vellum from a pocket. It identified Col as a member of the King’s Citadel, and requested that the bearer be supplied with all available aid in the furtherance of his investigations. The vellum was affixed with the King’s seal.

“Happy?” asked Col.

“Not really. Forged documents aren’t hard to come by in Sharn. Doesn’t look like I have any choice, does it?”

“Not really.”

So Wren told him how Larrien asked him to investigate the professor’s death, about Rowen and Cutter, the courier Salkith, and how Cutter was blamed for the death of the professor.

“I knew it wasn’t him,” said Col. “I just didn’t know how he was involved.”

Wren resumed his narration, filling in the events of the previous day. Col held a hand up and stopped him when he got to the part about finding the journal hidden inside the desk.

“Wait. The professor actually had a suspect?”

“Lord Xavien. He’s on the Sharn city council.”

“But why didn’t he tell me?”

Torin spoke up. “He was just a professor. Probably the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to him was sleeping in and being late for class. Maybe he wasn’t sure if he could really trust you. Just because someone says they’re someone, it doesn’t always mean they are. Maybe he thought you were a rival out to get the shard for yourself.”

Col looked thoughtful. “It’s possible, I suppose. So what happened next?”

“Cutter pretended to be the courier and went to see Xavien. Xavien said they still had time, that whatever they were planning would take place today. Cutter was to take the shard to a priest of the Shadow in Khyber’s Gate. This priest did something with the shard and they—Cutter and the priest—took it to whoever is behind this whole thing.”

“He took the dragonshard to the person who is responsible for all this?” asked Col incredulously.

Wren held his hands in the air. “Don’t take it out on us. We told him not to, but he wanted his revenge. He said he’d get the shard back once he knew who was behind it, and bring it back here.”

“But what if he doesn’t get it back? What if he’s dead?”

Wren shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. There was no way he would give it to us.”

“This isn’t good,” said Col, leaning forward and steepling his hands against his mouth. “We knew something was being planned, something big, but we had no idea what it was. That priest could have done anything with the shard.”

He was silent for a while, staring at the floor. Finally, he straightened. “I can’t hang around here hoping he’s going to come
back with the shard. I need to have a word with this Xavien.”

He stood. Wren did the same.

“What are you doing?” asked Col.

“Coming with you. I’ve been on this case from the start. You wouldn’t have Xavien’s name if it wasn’t for me.”

“Us,” said Torin.

“Sorry. Us. I can save you time by taking you directly to him.”

Col thought about it. “But what if your friend comes back? With or without the shard, someone should be here in case he returns.”

“Torin—” said Wren, turning to the dwarf.

Torin sighed and sat back down. “Fine. I’ll wait.”

Wren raised an eyebrow at Col and waited.

“Very well,” said Col. “Let’s go, then. Just don’t get in the way.”

“I do not
get in the way,”
said Wren, offended.

“I see. Just do as you’re told.”

“And I certainly do not
do as I’m told!”

Col glanced at Torin. “You sure you wouldn’t rather come and leave him behind to wait?”

Torin grinned and shook his head. Wren pushed past the young man—how old was he, anyway, telling him to stay out of the way? He stepped into the hall.

“Come, Col,” he called over his shoulder. “Time is short.”

“I’m sorry,” said a young woman seated behind a desk, “but Lord Xavien is in a meeting at the moment. If you’d care to leave your name—”

“We don’t leave names,” declared Wren, still worked up at Col’s patronizing manner.

Col put his hand on Wren’s shoulder. “Take it easy,” he said. He pulled out the piece of vellum and showed it to the secretary.

“You see this?”

The secretary nodded.

“Do you know what it is?”

“It identifies you as a member of the Citadel.”

“That’s correct. So if you don’t want to be hauled off to Wroat to spend the next couple of years in the King’s dungeons, you’ll keep quiet.” He pointed to a door behind the secretary. “Through there?”

She nodded, eyes wide.

“Thanks.”

Col moved toward the door and pulled it open. Wren hurried after, trying to walk at his side. He didn’t want anyone thinking he was below Col.

A huge window situated directly behind Xavien’s desk lit the office. Afternoon sunlight streamed in, falling across the carpeted floor and partway up the opposite wall. Xavien was seated in a highbacked chair at his desk, facing a woman and a man who were holding files on their laps. They all looked up in surprise.

Xavien started to stand up. “What is the meaning—”

Col held up his hand. Xavien stopped in mid sentence, half-risen from his chair, one hand supporting himself on the edge of the desk. Wren had to admit, Col had the touch when it came to shutting people up.

Col let him stand there for a moment before asking, “Lord Xavien?”

As if his words were some kind of signal for the lord to carry on, Xavien stood up all the way. “Who do you think you are? You can’t just—”

Col clicked his tongue in irritation and held up the piece of vellum once again. He first showed it to the two people with the files. They looked at it, then glanced at Xavien.

“What?” he asked. “What is it?”

Col laid the vellum down on the desk. Xavien fished a pair of spectacles out of his breast pocket and perched them on the bridge of his nose. While he did this, his guests hastily gathered their things, darting sideways looks at Col. Wren held the door open for them as they fell over themselves to get out.